Chapter 126: The King Showed His Claws

Luke moved through the streets, slipping past wandering eyes as he made his way back to his hideout after leaving the square. Bartholomew’s little parade had been a silent spectacle—and dangerous. The man walked like there wasn’t a threat in the world. Exposed. Confident. Untouchable. Luke had watched him for a while… but he knew better than to stare for too long. Staring got you noticed. And noticed got you killed. He bailed before anyone noticed him.

Back at his hideout, Luke shoved open the lid of his storage chest and started unloading his haul. The fresh vegetables went into one corner—tomatoes, carrots, potatoes. After that, he grabbed spare scrap, worn cloth, and a few useless odds and ends. The kind of junk that made you look like just another broke scavenger.

For a moment, his eyes landed on the two healing potions. Valuable. Rare. Powerful. And dangerous if anyone caught wind of them. He considered bringing them… then shook his head. Not worth the risk. Not if he planned to keep poking around Bastion.

They went back in the chest. Even the weapons he’d looted from the orcs—he pulled them out of his storage item with a sigh and tossed them into storage chest. Swapped them out for something far less conspicuous. A pair of basic knives. Old. Worn. Rusted at the edges. If someone stopped him and demanded a storage check… he’d look like nothing more than a mediocre scavenger trying to survive. Looking irrelevant was his best weapon.

He sealed the hideout, making sure the entrance was well-covered, and climbed a narrow back alley. The sky was already shifting, painted in orange and deep purple. Dusk settling in. Curfew was closing in. Luke paused. Looked up. The air was cooler now, quieter. Whatever few birds still lived here were already gone, tucked away for the night.

It was time to head back to the Haven. Not because he cared about the curfew. Not because he was scared of Bartholomew’s patrols. But right now… starting a fight was the very last thing on his to-do list. He drifted through the shadows like smoke. Quiet. Invisible. Mind already racing with the next move.

***

As Luke approached the Haven, something immediately felt off. The entire camp surrounding the old hotel was silent. Completely. No hammering. No sawing. No chatter. Not even the usual cursing about the cold. Everyone stood frozen, facing the same direction. Luke quickened his pace. And as he got closer, he saw why. Soldiers. Dozens of them. And among them—two faces he knew too well. Oswald. Kruger.

Kruger stood like a shadow, cloaked in black and hiding behind his skull mask.

“This is Bartholomew’s decree!” Oswald’s voice thundered across the camp.

Luke slipped into the crowd, head down, blending into the noise without being noticed.

Terrible timing to show up.

“You are no longer allowed to hunt freely. From now on, you’ll be given one day per week. That day will be set by us.”

A ripple of outrage spread through the Haven. Angry murmurs. Fists clenched. But the soldiers outnumbered them—and worse, the mages stood ready, hands glowing, fire swirling above their palms.

“Some of our storage crates keep getting raided. Soldiers have been killed. Bartholomew’s patience is over. This is an insult to the Safe Zone—an insult to everything he built.”

Angelica stepped forward, fists clenched, fury written across her face. “This is bullsh*t! We’ve given you everything you demanded. We have nothing to do with the Renegades!”

Kruger took a step forward. Silence. Heavy. Suffocating. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

“Yes. You do.”

His voice was ice. Sharp. Absolute. “I haven’t forgotten the words of that prisoner. He said the traitor is among you. You’ve had more than enough time. You’ve done nothing. You’re in the way.”

Angelica’s jaw tightened. “How are we in the way? We’ve followed every order.”

Kruger tilted his head. “The rat is one of you. Where is he? Where’s his head on a spike?” His voice sharpened further. “The very fact that you exist outside our control… is a problem.”

He turned toward the soldiers. “Burn it. Nothing remains of the crops.”

The silence shattered.

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“WHAT?!” Angelica yanked her axe free, voice cracking in disbelief. “We bled for that. Months of work. You can’t—!”

Kruger’s voice was a steel blade. “Is this how it’s gonna be? You really want to see where this goes?”

“Who ordered this?! What moron thinks this won’t push us into open rebellion?!”

A new voice answered. Cold. Commanding.

“I did.”

Boots echoed against stone. The soldiers parted like water. Silence tightened like a noose. A figure stepped forward—broad shoulders, sharp beard, eyes that didn’t blink. And atop his head… a simple, heavy, black crown. Bartholomew.

Angelica stood her ground. “We’re not responsible for any of this.”

Bartholomew’s gaze dropped on her like a hammer. His voice was absolute. “Oh, but you are. Two factions exist within this Safe Zone. But only one has been sabotaged. Only one is being attacked.” His eyes narrowed. “And now we’ve confirmed there are Renegade collaborators among you.”

He extended a finger. Straight at Angelica.

“You are just as guilty as they are.”

The soldiers moved.

Tents collapsed under boot heels. Crates shattered. Supplies were kicked, stomped, destroyed. A man tried to shove a soldier back—he took a punch to the face that dropped him instantly.